Tightly clenched,
fingernails are
digging mercilessly
into that fleshy
part of my sweaty hands.
I hear my heart
while the others taunt me.
Why do I always find myself in
this predicament,
I mentally kick myself.
Spread your hands,
I shall soon be ordered
and I will wish I did not exist
while the others will surely gawk.
I am closer to having the thin horny translucent plates
covering the tips of my fingers inspected.
(Do Catholic schools still do this today? I wonder)
My mind is racing...a-ha!
meekly I request the comfort room
and I am absentmindedly released
while the others are in awe.
I sprint a distance of three
buildings until I get to
whom will save me.
My older sister.
She whips out her sewing sheers
deftly pruning the offending fingernails
while the others wish that they had an older sister too.
(For My Older Sister)
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2 comments:
I got Catholic School stories too but I have to refrain from discussing the lurid ones here. I can tell you about the time my 3rd grade teacher caught me using her stash of toothpicks that she kept in her drawer, to clean my dirty nails before the Nazi head teacher came in for the Monday morning clean nails inspection.
That was so beautiful!! Aw, it made me cry!
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